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My little space on the web where I blog about comics and comic books, drawing and illustration, graphic design, writing stories, and a few tips and tutorials from time to time about them. I'll also share bits about movies, theater, music, (maybe even cooking!) and whatever strikes my fancy.

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I promised myself that I'd do a book a year, but concepts and plotlines don't follow that schedule. Presently, I have quite a number of concepts for stories that would last me for the next five-plus years, granted that I write them to my satisfaction.

The sticker-label "creator of gay comics" is slowly unrolling across my wide forehead, and most of the story concepts I've thought up do have gay lead characters. But as an artist (and I say this with a shiver), I'd like to present that gay personality in different ways under different circumstances. Most of the stories I've come up with aren't necessarily about gay love or the gay lifestyle.

While Part Two of Ang Kagila-gilalas na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Zsazsa Zaturnnah has yet to be released, my extra brain cells have been mulling over the next solo work meant for late-2003. It's something light-years removed from the vulgar camp of Zsazsa Zaturnnah, or the love angst of One Nig…

Speaking of Zsazsa Zaturnnah, I feel it's fitting to announce that I won't be able to keep my February promise. So if you got the book, I apologize for the delay. Self-publishing is so stressful on the pocket, and it eats up a horrendous amount of time, aggravated by my decision to work for my good friend Dean at his company Pipeline Media. Part Two will definitely 'come out of its closet.' I mean, it has to, right? I'm targetting mid- to late-March. I have no excuse this time. *sigh*

The Hours(Meryl Streep, Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore; directed by Stephen Daldry)Kidman, with her prosthetic nose, is Virginia Woolf in the early 1920s writing her great novel Mrs. Dalloway. Moore is Laura Brown, an American housewife in the 1950s who reads the novel. Streep is Mrs. Clarissa Dalloway in the year 2001. This Oscar-nominated drama subtly dissects the nature of happiness when subject to restrictions dictated by society or the self. It's one of them talkie films, and I like talkies.
My Rating: 8.5 out of 10

El Crimen del Padre Amaro(Gael Garcia Bernal, Ana Claudia Talancon; directed by Carlos Carrera)The most unapologetic portrayal of the Catholic priesthood I've ever seen. (Okay, so the last one I remember watching was The Priest.) This Oscar-nominated film from Mexico depicts Padre Amaro's struggle to keep true to his faith and vocation, yet having to compromise that with his weakness as a human being. A wonderful ens…

I keep two logs. Mid-last year, I started a journal on one of 'em expensive notebooks, the kind I won't normally buy. And I was able to keep it up till now, detailing most current events about four times a week in long hand which, in this keyboard-savvy day and age, is a dying art. My written journal has become one of my 'bestest' friends, with whom I can be myself and vulnerable.

This on-screen journal is my second log, a receptacle of my observations of day-to-day things trivial and otherwise. If you're hoping to get some mush and gush in here, that won't happen unless the circumstances really call for it. The juicy stuff gets written down, not typed up.

Once a month, a motley crew of aspiring poets gather at PowerBooks Arnaiz (Makati City) for an Open Mike Poetry Session (with no mike). A few hours ago, I hosted the third anniversary of the Sessions and did my darndest to keep things upbeat and interesting, the same way as last year. I introduced brain-tugging poetry exercises to the group to give the session an added flavor. Nobody seemed to complain.

Before ending each session, we have a rengga, wherein everyone contributes one line to a poem. The catch is, a writer is only allowed to read the line before his, making for an intriguing challenge to the collective intelligence. Effectively, no one is quite sure what the poem is going to be about. And more often, the poem spirals down into a blob of nonsense, crassness, and ill-respect, like this piece written collectively during last year's session:

A Ghostbusting Aquatic Feline?My niece, in her past life we assume, was a cat by the name of Findette who lived with her dad near the sea. Later she found herself in a spider's web where she grew up to become human.

This is the revelation my four-year old niece made to me and my mom this morning. We didn't ask her about her past life (she had already been talking too much since she woke up); she just volunteered the information as if it happened only yesterday. And you know kids... they say things as they are.

On one occasion, she was minding her own business, playing by herself on the terrace when her gaze suddenly darts to the window leading to the living room and staircase. She blurts in Filipino, "Get away from there, or else I'll punch you in the face!!"

Her mom asks why she was shouting, and the reply was, "The white lady's disturbing me! She's at the window looking at me!"

Bracing for The Thousand CatsSadako came into our lives weeks ago. A wee thing, with bulbous cloudy eyes and fur that perenially stood on end. I was at the terrace that night when she made her presence known, (At this point, I still don't know if she's indeed female.) which was surprising since stray kittens don't usually approach humans.

The household is used to having cats around. My sister used to raise 'em; we had eight gorgeous crossbreeds then. But because feeding all of 'em with expensive cat food was not an economically wise thing to do, we had to say goodbye to most of them. Before Sadako came, we had Evita, and her kids Zaturnnah and Becky. Evita and Zaturnnah only visit now. Becky is nowhere to be found.

Just this afternoon, two new kittens waltzed casually into our lives, and are currently huddled fast asleep with Sadako on the front doormat. These newbies we've christened Samara and DaRing. My cousin then made reference to the Sandman story, &quot…

The High School GangThe first of February was mostly spent with the high school gang, most of whom were players of my Dungeons and Dragons and Marvel Superheroes ludicrous campaigns. We met up at the Marist School (Marikina) covered court and proceeded to a gazebo near the Brother's Center for lunch. After a politically-charged game of Apples to Apples, we headed to the edge of the track oval for more doses of yesterday, through familiar stories and old photographs.

The group's nom de guere is POLTERGEIST, or the Pals Of Loving, Trusted, Ever-Responsible, Going Everywhere In Satisfaction and Time. Yes, it's one of them things that make you go 'duh,' but it sounded brilliant back in 1985.

We weren't the partying types. We weren't rich either. A trip to the mall was a big event for us, so big that we had to take photographs. Ali Mall was the only place we could go to, and all we did was walk around, window-shop, then have a meal at the food court. Mandy would…

Stretched ThinDipping my hands into too many preoccupations is one of my major character flaws, add to that my need to excel in each of them. Each achievement I made found its place in my resumé, and I had believed that a robust collection of successes would make for an impressive career. Till now, I wonder if being a Jack of Many Trades was a wise path to choose.

Right now, my creative juices are gushing as I finish my second solo comics work Ang Kagila-gilalas na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Zsazsa Zaturnnah, while writing prose and poetry for our Hinirang website. While writing the lengthy piece Lu Parlore d'Anjelia was easy due to a need for catharsis, prose work is not my forte. And now I'm dipping my hands into it with an objective of being at least good at it. Then I'll wonder, where will this new preoccupation take me? How will it lend to my career? What is my career?

I've had a long and fruitful career in graphic design, article writing, and magazine art direction, and I've dabbled in theatre acting, playwriting, and teaching in university. But Fate led me to making comics, where I've found unexpected and flattering success.